


January Embers

by sohapppily



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, really just the usual with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohapppily/pseuds/sohapppily
Summary: He didn't want it like this. Not when Dennis was drunk and bored and looking for a warm body, literally. In that moment, anyone could’ve taken his place and it wouldn’t have made a difference. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Mac couldn't get himself to say the words out loud.





	January Embers

**Author's Note:**

> The initial concept and some of the imagery in this fic are _shamelessly_ ripped off from [You in January](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trMuR3uWHD8) by The Wonder Years. The song is very beautiful and much sweeter than this fic turned out to be.
> 
> Title from Stephen King's IT, but really from last summer's fabulous movie adaptation.
> 
> Set sometime between seasons eight and nine-ish? Post-Fat Mac, pre-apartment fire.

_11:00 PM_

_On a Sunday_

_Philadelphia, PA_  

* * *

It was cold when it happened; the kind of east coast cold that creeps into your bones and settles there long after you’ve warmed up.

Mac and Dennis returned from a week at Alpine Ridge to find their apartment smelling like death itself. Neither had emptied the near-full garbage before they left, and the food inside was rotting and teeming with maggots. Mac brought it to the curb but the smell remained, overpowering their senses. They had no way of stealing one of Frank’s credit cards to get a hotel room, neither of them wanted to sleep on Charlie’s floor and Sweet Dee had made sure to let them all know she had a date tonight. With nowhere else to go, they decided to open the windows. The late-night January air streamed into the apartment and they shuddered, shifting closer without meaning to.

The two men eventually found themselves curled under the blankets on Dennis’s bed, bodies pressed together through layers of clothes, noses red and breath visible in the cold. A space heater stationed at the foot of the bed battled silently with the open window behind them, keeping the frigid air barely tolerable. They sat back against the headboard in the dark bedroom and slowly emptied what was a full bottle of whiskey while Terminator played on the television.

“It’s goddamn freezing,” Mac said, and it was like a broken record.

“Bro, if you say that one more fucking time,” Dennis replied, taking a swig of whiskey in lieu of finishing his threat.

“Well, it  _is_ ,” Mac argued, then snatched the bottle back. “God, how does it still smell this bad in here? We’ve had the windows open for like an hour.”

“Because there’s no wind,” Dennis said. “All the goddamn air is just sitting here.”

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna be warm again, dude,” Mac said, a shiver running down his spine as if to emphasize his point.

Dennis let out a soft laugh. “Feels that way, doesn’t it?”

“Should we just close them?”

“We’ll leave it until the end of the movie,” Dennis said. “It’s kind of cozy though, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“This,” Dennis said. “With the whiskey and the blankets. It’s nice.”

“I guess, yeah,” Mac said, now acutely aware that Dennis’s body was pressed against his own from shoulder to ankle.

They both shifted their attention back to the television. Dennis pulled the bottle of whiskey from Mac’s hand and finished it off in one gulp.

On the small screen, Sarah Connor kissed Kyle Reese. Mac suppressed a flutter in the pit of his stomach as he watched the man’s strong hands move down her body, his wide chest looming over her smaller frame. He could’ve sworn he felt Dennis move closer.

“That’s one way to get warm,” Dennis said, his words running together as Kyle pulled Sarah on top of him.

“What is?” Mac asked, pointedly fixing his eyes on the actress as she threw her head back in feigned ecstasy, exposing her breasts to the viewer.

“That. Bangin’. Skin to skin. That’s the best way to warm up if you’re hypother–” he hiccupped, then finished, “Hypothermic. It’s science.”

Mac laughed, both at the statement and Dennis’s drunkenness. “I don’t think scientists would tell a guy with hypothermia to bang someone, dude.”

“They might,” Dennis mumbled. “I would.”

“What, are you saying we should bang each other?” Mac asked. The sarcasm he’d tried to lace through his words immediately fell flat.

It was silent as Mac’s heart crept into his throat. He turned his head slowly, afraid to exhale. The smile on the other man’s face could only be described as wicked, and Mac suddenly felt like an insect who’d flown straight into a spider’s web.

“I, um,” Mac started, his words coming out weak and shaky. “I’m kidding.”

“Are you?” Dennis countered.

“Yes,” Mac insisted, the statement ringing false in his own ears. The web tightened around him.

“Liar,” Dennis replied, his grin growing wider.

Mac felt a hot blush bloom across his face and neck, stinging against the cold air, giving him away instantly. Dennis moved in for the kill, reaching out across both of their chests and to lay his hand against the side of Mac’s neck. Strong fingers pressed against the top of his spine and a smooth thumb rubbed small circles on the sensitive spot behind his ear. Mac was paralyzed.

“You’re warm,” Dennis said simply.

“You're drunk,” Mac replied, still trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking.

“Very,” Dennis slurred, then laughed once. He’d consumed most of the whiskey they'd shared on his own. “But aren't we usually?”

“Dennis,” Mac breathed, the single word visible in the cold air around them.

The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion. Dennis walked his fingers down Mac’s torso, then slid his hand under the elastic of his sweatpants. He let his palm rest on the top of Mac’s thigh, settling on the shamrock tattoo he so often mocked.

 _Wake up_ , Mac thought. He’d had this dream before. Dennis would tease him with feather light touches, whisper everything he wanted to hear, gaze into Mac’s eyes as he moved in close until their lips were barely touching and then it was over. Mac would wake with a gasp and find himself alone, hard and fighting the urge to wake Dennis up and pick up where he’d left off. _Wake up wake up wake up._

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Dennis whispered.

He didn’t. Not like this, anyway. Not when Dennis was drunk and bored and looking for a warm body, literally. In that moment, anyone could’ve taken his place and it wouldn’t have made a difference. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not for them.

“Tell me you don't want  _me_.”

Mac couldn't get himself to say the words out loud.

Dennis’s hand gripped Mac’s thigh and he purred, " _I_ want this. I want  _you_ , Mac.”

He could see the words leave Dennis’s lips as his warm breath crystallized in the freezing air. It was physical proof that Dennis had actually said  _I want you_. He stared as it dissipated between them, trying his hardest to commit the image to memory.

The hand on his thigh crept inward and Dennis whispered his name again and that was all it took. Mac crashed into Dennis and tried to ignore the other man’s smug laugh as their mouths connected. Almost immediately, his head was swimming. Whether from the booze or the adrenaline-charged thrill of finally kissing Dennis Reynolds, he wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t unpleasant.

Dennis, as it turned out, wasn’t fucking around. Within moments they were both horizontal and shirtless, Dennis hovering over Mac under the blankets, their chests brushing together as their tongues tangled. Dennis broke away and Mac was gripped with a momentary panic before he felt teeth graze the hollow above his clavicle.

“Dennis,” Mac said, his voice ragged. “God, Dennis, I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like I’m dreaming. Am I dreaming?”

Dennis didn’t reply, instead continuing to leave his mark on Mac’s neck.

“I’ve wanted this forever. Wanted you." He tangled his fingers in Dennis’s hair, holding the other man in place. Mac could feel himself babbling but he couldn’t stop. “Fuck, this was such a good idea. I'm so happy you–”

“Hey, Mac?” Dennis said against his skin and Mac paused. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh,” Mac mumbled, surprised by how much the inane phrase stung. “Uh, sorry.”

Dennis frowned, seeming to realize he’d hurt Mac’s feelings. He brought both hands to Mac’s cheeks and kissed him, finally letting his full body weight press down on the other man. Mac made a soft noise, taken aback by the sweetness of the kiss.

“It’s okay,” Dennis whispered, his voice soft. “Just… Shush.”

Mac nodded as he made a show of pursing his lips together.

“Good boy,” Dennis said, then rolled onto his back and said, “C’mere.”

With a renewed grin, Mac climbed on top of Dennis, pulling the blanket around them and planting a knee on either side of his narrow waist. He ran his hands over Dennis’s chest as they kissed, savoring how strong and distinctly male it felt under his calloused fingers. Dennis’s body was strong and toned, so different than the women Mac forced himself to touch and infinitely hotter than the shameful, faceless gay club hookups he tried to forget. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to go back after this, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to. If he had his way, he’d stay in this moment forever.

Unfortunately, Mac wasn’t typically someone who got his way. Too soon, he felt Dennis’s palms press against his shoulders, trying to force him downward. He pushed back, refusing to budge and pretended not to hear the frustrated sounds Dennis made.

“Dennis,” Mac mumbled, pulling back slightly. “Come on, man. Can’t we just keep… doing this?”

“What, you want to just make out all night?” Dennis asked, the usual sharpness returning to his tone. “Are we thirteen years old?”

Mac gave a half-hearted shrug and shifted uncomfortably. He knew from his viewings of his friend’s sex tapes that once Dennis got off, everything would be over. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Please, baby,” Dennis said, then leaned up to kiss Mac’s lower lip. “I’ll return the favor.”

Mac sighed as he felt his resolve begin to break. He wished – not for the first time – that he was better at saying no to Dennis, even knowing it would’ve fallen on deaf ears.

“Please,” Dennis said again, drawing out the vowel sounds as he ghosted his lips over Mac’s.

“Fine,” Mac conceded, and couldn’t help but smile back when Dennis’s face split into a grin.

He retreated under the covers and down Dennis’s body, trailing his fingers as he went, feeling goosebumps spring up in their wake. The two men tangled awkwardly for a moment as Mac slid Dennis’s sweatpants off his body, blind in the darkness of the thick blankets, eliciting a small laugh from both of them. The blanket settled back against Dennis’s chest, keeping him out of sight and Mac suddenly felt... alone.

Then, Dennis lifted his hips expectantly, so Mac took a deep breath and obliged. He heard Dennis swear as he wrapped his mouth around him and felt an overwhelming surge of pride. He’d watched this scene play out countless times with countless women, much more often than Dennis knew. But now, being in it, being the one to make Dennis feel good was almost enough to end him right there.

He moved slowly, still not quite used to being on the giving end of things. Dennis, thankfully, seemed to realize this and wasn’t nearly as rough as Mac had seen him be. Mac could feel Dennis moving as he worked, hands clenching the blankets on either side of rolling hips. He glanced upward at the sliver of light peeking under the blanket and wished more than anything he could see the look on Dennis’s face.

Abruptly, he realized two things. The first was that Dennis couldn’t see him, either. The second, and worst of the two, was that that meant Dennis could be imagining someone else. Suddenly furious, he flailed his arms wildly, flinging the blanket to the foot of the bed.

“What the hell?” Dennis mumbled, opening his eyes to look down at Mac.

Mac ignored him, sliding one hand into Dennis’s and lacing their fingers together. Dennis seemed to take the hint and brought his free hand down to card through Mac’s hair. He moaned quietly and the sound ran through Mac like a lightning bolt, renewing his enthusiasm.

Then Dennis closed his eyes and the ire Mac had felt resurfaced. He stared up at Dennis as best he could through watering eyes, looking for any semblance of recognition. Any hint that Dennis was in this moment with him. But Dennis’s eyes stayed screwed shut, and every second felt more and more like a dagger in Mac’s heart.

“ _Fuck_ , babe,” Dennis whispered, then yanked his hand out of Mac’s grasp, and Mac knew what that meant.

He scowled internally at the pet name and pulled back, then wrapped his hand around Dennis’s dick. Dennis swore as he came, and Mac wished the sound had been his name instead. He sat back on his heels, still as a statue and just as hard, and waited for Dennis to move.

Slowly, Dennis opened his eyes and smiled wide. “You’re better at that than I thought you’d be.”

A small grin spread across Mac’s face. “Thanks?”

“You look good like this, Mac,” Dennis continued.

“Like what?” Mac asked, raising his eyebrows and trying not to swoon when Dennis said his name.

Dennis's smile twisted even wider. “With some of my load on your face.”

Mac blushed, and Dennis laid a cold hand against his hot cheek. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe the stray line of cum, then moved it to Mac’s lips. Mac paused, then tentatively dragged his tongue across Dennis’s finger. He didn’t hate the taste.

“Yeah,” Dennis mumbled, his voice rough. “Come up here.”

Mac nodded once then crawled up Dennis’s body, pulling the comforter back over them as he went. Dennis kissed him as soon as he could reach, and Mac all but melted. The pain and annoyance he’d felt before faded away as Dennis’s lips moved against his own. Mac could still taste the whiskey on Dennis’s tongue and it was damn near intoxicating. He’d only done it a handful of times now, but kissing Dennis was fast becoming one of Mac’s favorite things.

Suddenly, Dennis flipped him with surprising ease and Mac’s breath rushed out of him with a soft  _oof_. Dennis gathered Mac’s wrists in one hand and slammed them up and against the wood headboard. Mac could feel a bruise start to bloom as Dennis pulled back. He looked Mac up and down, the grin still plastered on his face bordering sinister.

“Christ,” Dennis breathed, and Mac tried very hard not to think about Him. “Tying you up is gonna be fun.”

Mac glanced over at the drawer in Dennis’s dresser that he knew contained the so-called fetish shit. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

Dennis shook his head, seeming to sense the apprehension. “Not now.”

 _Then when?_ Mac wondered briefly, until Dennis shoved his hand into Mac’s boxers and he lost all ability to wonder. His eyes rolled back as Dennis jerked him off while pressing kisses across his neck and jaw. Mac tried desperately to remember every sensation, every noise and every fleeting feeling. Dennis whispered  _come for me, Mac_ in his ear and it was over. He gasped Dennis’s name, his entire body shuddering hard.

It was silent, aside from Mac’s ragged breathing and the sounds of the city below them. At some point, he realized, the television must’ve been turned off. Dennis let go of Mac’s wrists and flopped onto his back, then grabbed his phone off his nightstand. Mac lowered his arms and rubbed gently at the bruises that had, sure enough, begun to form. He carefully glanced over at Dennis, his expressionless face lit by the blue haze of a phone screen while his thumbs tapped away.

A thousand things to say ran through Mac’s head. He settled on, “That wasn’t exactly how I expected you to return the favor.”

Dennis laughed once, locked his phone, and placed it face down on his nightstand. “Yeah, well. I’ll blow you next time.”

Mac’s breath caught in his throat. “Next time?”

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Dennis said abruptly.

He slid out of the bed, not bothering to pull on his pants as he moved toward the bathroom. Mac couldn’t help but stare at his ass as he walked away, causing another hot blush to spread across his face when Dennis looked over his shoulder.

“You wanna join me?” Dennis asked.

Mac’s eyes went wide and he shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Dennis said, then turned forward. “Close the windows, yeah? We’ll light some candles and Lysol this place to hell before we leave for work tomorrow.”

He closed the bathroom door before Mac could speak again. The click of the handle hung heavy in the silence until the water turned on.

Mac shivered, and it had little to do with the cold that had begun to set back in.

“What the fuck just happened?” he whispered to himself.

He and Dennis had really just… Well, not exactly had sex. But it was significant. He’d finally kissed Dennis Reynolds. Just moments ago, he’d had Dennis’s dick in his mouth and Dennis’s hand down his pants. So many things he’d wanted for so long had finally moved out of his thoughts and into reality. He should, in theory, be over the moon.

But it was all wrong. The few times Mac had allowed himself to unashamedly fantasize about sleeping with Dennis, it was never like this. Their first time was supposed to be slow and sensual, their decades of sexual tension finally bubbling over in a passionate kiss. They’d tear each other’s clothes off with dramatic flair and fall into Dennis’s bed, their hands never leaving the other’s body. Dennis’s touches would be soft, his words sweet. They'd sigh each other's names as they came together, years of knowing each other better than themselves culminating in one perfect moment. Whispered I love yous would turn into quiet snores and they'd wake up the next morning, blissed out and tangled together.

He sat up in the bed, rubbing his bruised wrists while the blanket pooled at his waist. He winced at the slight pain, then pressed harder as he looked in Dennis’s standing mirror. Even from across the room, he could see a dark hickey at the base of his neck. Marked like property, half-naked, messy-haired and completely alone, he listened to the water run. The familiar sound was his usual sign that Dennis was finished with his hookup du jour and her cue to leave.

Mac watched a single tear slide down his cheek, then wiped it from his neck with the back of his hand.

“Get it together, you fucking pussy,” Mac mumbled, then got out of the bed.

He bent down to scoop his sweater off the ground, pulling a face when the movement made him very aware of the mess in his boxers. He shrugged on his hoodie, closed Dennis’s windows, then started toward his bedroom. The apartment was colder once he left Dennis’s room. The smell was, somehow, still nearly overwhelming, only growing worse as he moved into the kitchen. He gagged and quickly ducked into his room.

Mac pulled his boxers and sweatpants off with one motion then tossed them into the corner of his room.  _I’ll deal with them tomorrow_ , he thought as he walked into his bathroom to clean up.

He stared at himself again in his bathroom mirror. The mark on his neck stood out in the harsh fluorescent lighting, each errant flicker seeming to bring it more into focus. His hands shook as he exhaled, his breath hanging around him in the freezing air.

“You're pathetic,” he spat at his reflection.

He was. Standing there alone, far away from Dennis’s bed, the gravity of the situation set in. He couldn't believe he’d allowed Dennis to manipulate him that easily, to ruin an experience that Mac could never get back. Whether they never touched each other again or they got married tomorrow, Mac would always equate their first night together with this moment, standing alone in his bathroom, on the brink of tears.

Despite it all, he didn’t regret it. As Mac continued to stare at the mark on his neck, a warmth spread throughout his body. He could still feel Dennis’s mouth against his skin, capillaries bursting between teeth and a soft tongue soothing the pain. Everywhere Dennis had touched him still felt ablaze in the freezing air. He brought one hand up to his lips, marveling at the bruise on his wrist as he thought about Dennis’s strong hand holding him down. Just as he could see the words Dennis had plied him with, he could see the ghosts of Dennis’s touch. _Next time_ , he’d said, and Mac could still hear it ringing in his ears.

“Whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head as if it would clear his swirling thoughts.

He caught a chill as he crossed back into his bedroom and of course, he mused, the wind would finally pick up when they decided to close the windows. He stopped at his dresser and grabbed another pair of sweatpants, then pulled them on as he walked toward the window. He slammed it closed and the room fell silent, devoid of Philadelphia’s grey noise. He turned to leave, then stopped in his tracks. There, hanging on the back of his bedroom door, was his framed painting of Jesus Christ. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

It wasn’t a real painting, of course, just a cheap print he’d bought at a thrift shop for a few bucks about a month ago. The thing was enormous, almost the width of the entire door. Mac had hung it up with a wide smile, ignoring the eye roll Dennis shot him from across the room. “That thing is fucking ridiculous, bro,” he’d said, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, but Mac didn’t respond. He liked how overbearing it was, how impossible it was to look away. It would force him to be a better boy, late at night, when he was left alone with only his thoughts.

Mac’s eyes raked over the painting of Christ. The halo of warm light surrounding Him seemed to glow under Mac’s single, dingy bulb. Mac wished it would envelop him and take him away; away from Dennis, away from this night, away from all his sins. The look on His face, which Mac had always found serene, was suddenly judgemental, as if the painting itself knew what Mac had done. He couldn’t look away as Christ’s eyes seemed to bore into his very soul, filling him with an all too familiar shame.

“I’m sorry,” Mac whispered, like he always did.

He paused, as if the painting could respond.

"I'm _sorry_ ," he repeated, his voice desperate.

Jesus, of course, said nothing.

Overwhelmed, confused and profoundly frustrated by the gauntlet of emotions he’d run, Mac cocked his fist and punched Jesus Christ square in the face.

“FUCK!” he yelled over the sound of shattering glass, wincing as he felt it tear the skin on his knuckles.

He looked down at his fist, surprised to see it wasn’t nearly as mangled as he’d expected. Christ, however, was destroyed. The cheap paper had ripped, both from the force of his fist and the broken glass. Although His face was nearly unrecognizable, His halo remained.

As prone to outbursts as Mac was, this was the most embarrassed he'd ever felt afterward. Thankfully, no one was there to see it. With a sigh, he wiped his bloody knuckles on his black sweatpants, then glanced at the shards of glass on the floor. Another problem he’d deal with tomorrow. He shook one off his foot, carefully stepped to the side and walked out his door.

The common area still smelled like shit, even with the cold wind finally starting to circulate the air. He decided to leave their small kitchen window open wide but quickly moved around the apartment closing the rest. He heard the shower shut off as the last window closed. He thought about setting up camp on the couch, not quite ready to deal with the mess in his room, then realized that he, stupidly, had left his pillow in Dennis’s room. With a sigh, he reluctantly trudged back.

The room had warmed up significantly now that the winter air wasn’t undoing the space heater’s hard work. Mac felt his muscles relax in the welcome respite from the cold air he'd acclimated to. He quickly grabbed his pillow and turned back toward the door. As he was about to open it, he heard Dennis’s cell phone beep. Mac froze. He turned his head and stared at the phone, still face down on the nightstand, and suddenly couldn’t bear not knowing what the message said. With a quick glance toward the bathroom door, he dropped the pillow, grabbed Dennis’s phone and sat down on the bed. There were three texts waiting on the lock screen.

> **Cindy Redhead Wawa  
>  ** _Hiii so nice to hear from u!! I miss u too babe!!! I get off work tmrw at 10 so come over around 10:30 xoxox_
> 
> **Annie Big Tits Gym  
>  ** _Thurs night?_
> 
> **Vanessa Starbucks  
>  ** _Hey! Going out with friends Friday for a birthday if you wanna join. Or just my place after._

Mac stared at the messages, reading each one at least five times. His curiosity got the better of him and he slid open the most recent notification, shot another furtive look at the bathroom door, then typed in Dennis’s passcode. The text to Cindy Redhead Wawa sat at the top of the text thread. 

> _Hey sexy. Wanna get together sometime this week? I miss u._

Mac swiped back into Dennis’s inbox and saw that he’d sent the same exact message to eight other women with various descriptors and one person saved as Jake Abs Bottom. Mac could tell from the timestamp that Dennis had sent the messages just before getting in the shower. As Mac had laid there, his body still coming down from his orgasm, Dennis had been lining up hookups for the week. Mac felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. The skin on his battered knuckle tore open further as he gripped the phone, but the pain barely registered in his clouded brain.

The bathroom door opened and Mac’s head shot up. His jaw nearly dropped at the sight. Dennis stood in the threshold, a towel slung loosely around his waist. The warm light from the bathroom shone into the darkened bedroom, silhouetting the man’s lean frame. Steam, leftover from the scalding showers Dennis was known to take, drifted out around him and quickly dissipated.

He looked holy. Lit from behind, a halo shining around his head. Christ in the flesh, descending on Mac, embodying his sins. Mac felt like he couldn't breathe.

Dennis flicked off the light, and his humanity returned.

“Why are you looking at my phone?” Dennis asked as he stepped into the bedroom. Before Mac could reply, Dennis continued, “Jesus Christ, you get in a fist fight while I was in the shower?”

Mac laughed once and dropped Dennis's phone onto the bed. “It’s nothing.”

"Dude, your entire hand is split open and you're about to bleed on my bed. What the fuck happened?"

"Just move past it," Mac snapped, then rubbed his hand against his thigh, hissing slightly at the drag of fabric across the wound.

“That’s gonna get infected if you keep wiping it on those goddamn unwashed sweatpants,” Dennis chided. “Hang on.”

Dennis walked over to his discarded sweats and dropped his towel. Mac looked toward the ceiling as Dennis pulled on his pajamas, not before missing the smirk on Dennis’s face. Fully clothed, Dennis walked back to the bathroom. To Mac’s relief, he didn’t turn on the light. Moments later, he returned to the bed with an armful of various medical supplies. He sat down next to Mac, setting everything between them.

“Gimme,” Dennis said quietly.

Mac stuck out his injured hand and Dennis wrapped his long fingers around Mac’s wrist, then laid Mac’s hand palm down against his knee. He soaked a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and carefully brought it down to Mac’s first knuckle. He inhaled sharply at the sting, eliciting a small laugh from Dennis.

“Pussy,” Dennis said, his tone playful.

Mac smiled despite the discomfort. He watched Dennis’s face as he worked, carefully wiping away the blood that had dried down Mac’s fingers. There was a softness to him that Mac rarely saw, and he could feel it mirrored in feather light touches. Fleetingly, he thought that he’d hurt himself a lot more often if it meant Dennis would touch him like this.

He figured he should’ve been uncomfortable as Dennis applied ointment to his slashed knuckles with a bare finger, but Mac couldn’t help but feel there was a certain intimacy to it. Blood brothers, as they’d so often called each other. Dennis laid a strip of gauze across the wounds then gently turned Mac’s hand on its side so he could wrap it with medical tape. Mac felt a strange rush of disappointment as Dennis finished the job, placated only by the fact that Dennis didn’t let go of his hand.

“There,” Dennis said, turning Mac’s hand to admire his work. “I know we have knuckle Band-Aids at the bar, but that’ll do for now.”

“Thanks, dude,” Mac said.

The two men stared at each other in uncharacteristic silence, and Mac couldn’t help but think about how easy it would be to lean forward and press his lips to Dennis’s. He could feel Dennis’s breath on his face, much warmer than the air around them. His free hand twitched, ready to lay against Dennis’s cheek as he began to lean in.

Dennis looked back down at Mac’s hand and let out a low whistle.

“Jesus,” he said, and Mac wished that he would say anything else. “I really did a number on you, didn’t I? Look at that bruise.”

“Yeah,” Mac mumbled, dazed from a kiss that didn’t happen.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Mac said immediately.

“Then I won’t,” Dennis quipped, then ducked down to inspect the hickey on Mac’s neck. “Have fun explaining that one to the guys.”

Dennis reached out and flicked the spot lightly, causing Mac to wince. Any of the softness from before was gone.

Dennis stood up and walked back over to the bathroom, bandages and ointments balanced precariously in his arms. Mac bit his lip, deliberating on whether or not to bring up the  _next time_ that was still running through his head. _Now or never_ , he thought, then took a deep breath.

“So, um,” he started nervously. “Earlier…”

“Yeah?” Dennis asked, closing the bathroom door as he came back into the bedroom.

“You said… next time.”

“I did,” Dennis said simply, and Mac could tell the alcohol was wearing off.

“Well,” Mac began, fiddling with the drawstring on his hoodie to avoid eye contact. “What did you mean by that?”

“What did I _mean_ by that?” Dennis parroted.

“Yeah, like,” Mac paused, then continued with, “When?”

“When?” Dennis echoed again. “You want to, what, like, set a date for me to go down on you?”

“No,” Mac stuttered. “I just thought–”

“You just thought what, Mac?” Dennis said, and Mac gritted his teeth at both the interruption and the repetition.

“That it would be…” Mac paused, and Dennis raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Different. Us.”

Dennis scoffed. “What, should I have taken you to dinner first?”

“That’s not–”

“Was I supposed to tell you I love you? That it was the best goddamn blowjob I’ve ever had?”

“No, but–”

“Do you think we’re like boyfriends now? Because that’s sure as hell not a thing.”

“I don’t think we’re–”

“Look,” Dennis said, then ran a hand over his face. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’m too fucking tired to keep having this conversation. Just… don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Mac said weakly, knowing full goddamn well he’d be worrying about it for days, weeks, possibly even months.

“Okay,” Dennis said, then changed the subject by asking, “Did anyone text me back?”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Before,” Dennis clarified, then turned out the overhead light. “When you were snooping through my phone. Did anyone text me back?”

“Oh,” Mac said, suddenly embarrassed. “Um, yeah. A few people.”

Dennis nodded, then got into bed. Mac took this as his cue to leave.

“Where you going?” Dennis asked, then suppressed a yawn.

Mac shrugged.

“Stay here.”

“I don’t think I should–”

“Mac,” Dennis said, and Mac fought back a frustrated scream as Dennis interrupted him for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “It’s still freezing out there, and probably smells like shit. Get in the goddamn bed.”

He couldn’t argue anymore. As soon as he crawled under the covers, Dennis scooted closer to meet him. Mac’s eyes wandered over his face as best they could in the darkness. Dennis was different like this, makeup washed away, hair tousled, sleep tugging at the edges of his features. He seemed like another person than the man who’d been yelling at Mac a few moments ago. He wasn’t, of course. It was just wishful thinking.

As if he could read Mac’s thoughts, Dennis brought a hand up to Mac’s cheek. Mac let out a quiet exhale, and Dennis rolled his eyes at the soft sound. Then, Dennis grinned and leaned in to press his lips to Mac’s. His eyes closed and his head swirled, but it was over too soon. Dennis leaned away, then pulled lower lip between his teeth, seeming uncharacteristically sheepish.

“Sorry,” Dennis said quietly. “For being a dick.”

“It’s okay,” Mac replied reflexively, even though it really wasn't. Not yet.

“I don’t want you to get all… I don’t know. Clingy?” Dennis said. “It’s not a big deal, you know?”

Mac just nodded. It was a very big deal to him.

“I don’t regret it,” Dennis continued, his voice getting softer by the word. “Please don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”

Dennis smiled as his eyes fluttered closed, then whispered, “Not the best blowjob I’ve ever had, but it was pretty good.”

“You’re welcome?” Mac whispered back.

“I’m better at it than you are,” Dennis replied, his words running together as sleep began to pull him under.

Mac smiled. “Is that so?”

Dennis let out a tiny laugh, then repeated, “Next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone can get on me about this premise being unrealistic, the whole "coming back from vacation at a ski resort in the Poconos to find a rotting, maggot-filled garbage can and needing to have all the windows open to get the godforsaken smell out" is straight out of my own idiot life. Unfortunately, there was less sex involved, but c'est la vie.


End file.
